


Nowhere Is The Dreamer Or The Misfit So Alone

by UniverseOnHerShoulders



Series: Take Me To The Stars [14]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Helping others
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-14 08:36:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18049202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UniverseOnHerShoulders/pseuds/UniverseOnHerShoulders
Summary: The Doctor has never been one for revisiting her past, but Clara seems to be making a habit of it. On one such visit, the Doctor finds someone in need of her help.





	Nowhere Is The Dreamer Or The Misfit So Alone

They’ve been here before. Clara insists on coming back once a month or so, just to check that things haven’t torn themselves apart in her absence. As she’d explained to the Doctor on their first joint visit, this was the first settlement she’d saved in her new immortal guise, and thus after serving as their salvation, she’d felt obligated to spend a little time here, getting to know the people whose lives she’d made such an impact on. She’d settled into the role with delight, and before she’d known it, six months had passed, and extricating herself from the community had been all the harder when she realised that the rest of the universe had need of her. 

Now, as they approach the village each time they visit, a joyous cry goes up from whoever it is that happens to notice them first, and then there will be the sound of running feet as children of all ages lurch into motion, running to greet them. It’s a nice feeling – one the Doctor is unaccustomed to, stubborn refuser to revisit her past as she is, but she’s happy enough to bask in the warm glow of love that these people feel for Clara. She and the villagers have that much in common – a singular adoration of the dark-haired woman who serves as their saviour – so it’s easy enough to fit in with them now that they know her. Upon their first visit together, she had been welcomed as an old friend, and coming here now feels like home.

She takes Clara’s hand as the usual shout heralds their arrival, and a small band of children – none of them taller than her waist – come sprinting towards them in worn trainers and brightly-coloured shorts, feet slapping the cobblestones as they surge around Clara and the Doctor, all competing for their attention. 

“Teacher!” they shout over each other, tugging at Clara’s sleeves and grinning from ear to ear. “Teacher, Teacher, Teacher, Miss, Miss, Miss, look at me!” 

Clara laughs, taking it all in her stride, and as the adults of the village approach, slower and far more sedate, she inclines her head in their direction, watching as their faces light up as they realise she’s returned. The Doctor crouches as the children turn their attention to her, each of them taking her in turn by the hand and or greeting her with a hug and an excited shout, but her attention is drawn, this time… well, elsewhere. Usually she would pick the littlest ones up and swing them around, perhaps resting the very smallest on her hip, but today… today, things feel different. Her attention is being pulled insistently towards a side street, and she exchanges a silent look with Clara, one in which several things are implicit.

 _I need-_

_Someone needs-_

_Can I_? 

There’s a nod by way of response and so she ruffles the nearest child’s hair before straightening up and slipping away, trusting her feet to take her to where she needs to be. She can’t describe this feeling, but she is grateful for her partner’s understanding of it; grateful that she’s at liberty to listen to what her senses are telling her and to follow up on it accordingly. She muses on this as she navigates the winding streets; knows the main roads of the village, but the route her body takes her is unfamiliar and unknown, past small houses and ancient cars, before bringing her to a halt beside a merrily-gurgling fountain in a shady square that she hasn’t visited before. 

There’s a girl no older than sixteen sat on the lip of the fountain’s basin, her bare feet in the water and her head downturned as she stares down at them with fixed intensity. She’s alone, which is unusual in itself, and she seems entirely wrapped up in her thoughts as the Doctor approaches and takes a seat beside her, resisting the urge to strip off her boots and plunge her feet into the water too. She knows, instinctively, that this girl is the reason she’s here – something about the isolation of the square and the way her head is hanging forward, as though without hope, signals this to her as loudly as if the girl were proclaiming it from the rooftops. 

“Hello,” the Doctor says brightly, and the girl jumps, her head snapping up and her eyes going wide as she realises who she’s face to face with. She has masses of dark curls tumbling down her back, and eyes the colour of Clara’s, but the only thing that matters to the Doctor is that she’s never seen this girl before. She’d thought she knew the entirety of the village, and yet this girl is a stranger to her.  “We haven’t met. I’m the Doctor.” 

“I know who you are,” the girl says, her eyes still wide with amazement. “Everyone does.” 

“So why don’t I know you?” the Doctor pitches her voice to a tone of careful concern, wary of intimidating the young woman. She might be a stranger, but all strangers are just friends she hasn’t met yet – in her school of thought, anyway. Clara might disagree, but that’s human cynicism for you. “I thought I was friends with everyone here, but we haven’t met.” 

“No, we haven’t,” the girl smiles sadly, letting her hair fall over her face. “I’ve kept away from you.”

“Why would you do that? Am I really that scary?” the Doctor makes a face, and the girl laughs. “Not scary, then.” 

“No, not scary,” the girl looks back down at the water, reaching down and swirling her fingertips through it. “I am, though.” 

“You don’t seem very scary,” the Doctor tells her, looking her up and down in a silent, subtle appraisal. “I mean, I’ve faced down proper scary things, and you just seem very nice. Not to mention very sensible – fountain? In this heat? Great idea.” 

“I’m not nice,” the girl shakes her head at once, and the Doctor begins compiling a mental list of what could possibly be wrong with her. A curse? A split personality? Possession? Intimidation into criminal activity? “I’m… my brain doesn’t work like normal people’s brains. That’s what people tell me.” 

“There’s no such thing as a normal brain,” the Doctor says solemnly. “That’s a lie put about by people who think normal brains would be a nice idea. Everyone’s brain is extraordinary, and that’s a good thing! That’s the best thing, in fact, because if we were all normal we’d all be dead boring.” 

There’s the flash of a smile again, fleeting and uncertain.

“What’s your name, anyway?” the Doctor asks pragmatically. “I mean, I need to know that so I can talk to your brain properly, don’t I?” 

“Sophie,” the girl says shyly, tucking her hair behind her ears and looking up at the Doctor with more confidence. “You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

“I am indeed. Of many things.” 

“So, can you fix my brain?” 

“I mean,” the Doctor blinks hard, disconcerted by the question. “You’ve told me that it doesn’t work properly, but you’re here. You’re breathing and talking and smiling and sitting in the sunshine. Do you walk about and run and jump and skip?” 

“Sometimes, yeah. If I feel like it.”

“Seems to me that your brain works just fine, then. Nothing to fix there.” 

“It’s…” Sophie dithers for a moment, visibly unsure. “It’s not that. I can do those things, but my brain… I can’t concentrate properly, or I concentrate too much. I’m all over the place – people can’t keep up. I start talking about one thing and then I remember another and another and another and before I know it, the person I’m talking to is lost and they don’t want to talk to me again. They say my brain works a mile a minute, and it’s tiring for them to try and keep up with me. I get cross when they can’t, but I know it isn’t their fault.” 

“Nothing wrong with a fast brain. I’ve got a fast brain, and it’s saved my life – and my friends’ lives – on lots of occasions. Just because you think fast, there’s nowt wrong with that. In fact, I’d say it was an evolutionary advantage; shows you can think on your feet and problem solve, which is definitely a bonus. As for the concentrating thing – nowt wrong with that either. When I start thinking about a maths problem, Clara – sorry, the Teacher – says I’d vanish for days if she let me. But I’ve got her to remind me to come back to myself, so maybe you just need a pal to do the same for you?”

“I don’t have many pals,” Sophie blushes then. “I scare people a lot. I love a lot and I love very fast which makes people think I’m too much to handle, so I just kind of… bounce about chatting to everyone, but they all think I’m weird. I’ve got a best friend, but everyone says I should have a big group as a backup, but big groups are just _tiring,_ not to mention scary.” 

“Bouncing around a lot is alright,” the Doctor smiles gently. “I bounce around a lot – time, space, cities, villages, planets, the lot. Talking to everyone is alright, so long as you have one or two pals who really understand you. You don’t have to have hundreds of friends – that’s the kind of lie people want you to buy into, so they can tell you how to live your life. But if you’re happy with one friend, then that’s alright. You don’t have to change who you are because someone else tells you that what you’re doing is wrong. If you find big groups tiring or scary then you don’t have to make yourself tired or scared just to conform. Conforming’s overrated; never fancied it much, myself.” 

“You seem a bit like me,” Sophie returns her smile. “You seem very fast and happy and a little bit mad. I bet your brain works properly though.”

“My brain has never worked properly, but nothing in my life has. My ship is dodgy and sometimes has strops that last for weeks, my sonic occasionally packs it in altogether, my partner has a tendency to have this downtime every night called ‘sleep,’ and even my pals back on Earth have their moments. But that doesn’t mean they’re bad or they’re broken. Doesn’t mean I don’t love them, and I bet people love you and all.” 

“I don’t know,” Sophie shrugs. “They tend to just keep telling me I need fixing, because I alienate people.” 

“Do you need me to have a word with them? Because I’m not having anyone telling you that. You don’t need fixing, Sophie, because you aren’t broken. You need to learn how to harness your strengths, not suppress them. Suppressing things leads to grief and to sorrow and to all kinds of nasty problems that I won’t go into. Promise me you won’t do that, because I’m not having anyone – not in this village, not on this planet, not anywhere – doing that to themselves to try and conform to someone else’s ideals.” 

“I…” Sophie blinks at her, taken aback by the speech. “I promise. But how do I…” 

“Trial and error. Experiment. It’s OK to get things wrong, as long as you learn from your mistakes.” 

“What if I don’t learn?” 

“You will,” the Doctor beams. “One thing I know about humans is that they have the amazing capacity to grow and learn, if only they’ll let themselves.” 

“You seem very… positive. About, well… things in general.” 

“It’s taken me a couple of millennia, but I’d say I am, yeah.” 

“I don’t have a couple of millennia!” Sophie looks at her with panic. “I’ve only got… you know, a normal lifespan. For humans, that is.”

“And you’ll live that normal human life to the fullest and learn as you go. You’ll make mistakes and you’ll learn from them, and that’s alright. But you can do this, I promise you. You aren’t broken, or damaged. You’re just you, and you’ll learn to manage that, given time.” 

From across the square, the Doctor catches sight of Clara, a small child balanced on her hip as she steps into the shade of a nearby building and raises her hand in a silent greeting. 

“Do you want to come and say hello to my partner?” the Doctor asks, getting to her feet and extending a hand. After a moment’s hesitation, Sophie takes it, scrambling upright and dusting her dress down. 

“I suppose so,” Sophie says quietly. “What does she teach? The Teacher?” 

“Well,” the Doctor smiles as she looks over at her partner, who is crooning softly to the little one in her arms. “I’m yet to encounter anything she can’t.”


End file.
